Miss Elizabeth's Captive

I was relieved to hear that Jamie was an adult but could not honestly recall whether New York has gotten around to updating its sodomy laws. And then my chronological mind worked backwards. Liz must have attended college some six or seven years ago. Then the comment came to mind about Jamie’s being an eighteenth birthday present. Jamie was altered so young!

The wine had indeed clouded my mind and judgment on Saturday night. Why had I not realized before that the blonde ingenue, the hairless hermaphrodite dutifully sucking my appendage, had been castrated at or near puberty!

“Liz,” I blurted into the phone. “There are things I don’t understand. This is the United States. Things like that don’t happen....”

“Things like what, Sam? An orphaned boy making a minor sacrifice in order to live a lifetime in comfort? The value of the jewelry he wears exceeds that which most people earn during their entire dreary existence, Sam. He’s educated, cared for, has a skill and receives constant training and discipline. Isn’t that all for which a naughty boy could wish?”

The training and discipline struck something within my psyche. I thought about how servile and obsequious Jamie had been. How in fact he had no cares, other than to obey. How he so gleefully freed Little Sam of every drop of essence.

“Not everyone would see it that way, Liz. The minor sacrifice was the boy’s testicles, for heaven’s sake. And not every boy is naughty!”

“No? Well, you certainly were not on your best behavior.”

Her voice was calm, collected. Mine reflected the frustration of not totally understanding what had happened to me on Saturday, how Jamie became Jamie, how a beautiful, well educated, intelligent woman could be so diabolically insouciant about a male’s gender identification.

Though coming across as angry, I really needed to understand more and my frustration showed though it seemed to roll off Liz like water on a duck’s back. And, I had yet to make love to one of the most beautiful women I had met.

She sensed that I needed to talk. And the phone was not the appropriate medium. Had any of our conversation been overhead, there would be too many questions to even begin to answer to my employer.

“Friday night, Sam. Come directly from work. No need to change. You can freshen up here. We’ll talk. Jamie likes you, Sam. And so do I, of course. And you can ask any question you wish to help you understand. But I will have requests of you. Term it a quid pro quo, Sam.

“And not to be contentious, but a very naughty male left my penthouse on Saturday completely satiated with no offer of equivalent gratification. Very impolite...”

I had not before thought of that. A relaxed yet aroused Liz, stimulated by the sordid scene of perversion, was

left to her own...feeling somewhat jilted I supposed.

For that reason alone, I agreed to a 6:00 p.m. Friday rendezvous. Liz’s penthouse was within walking distance of my office.

Chapter Three

Fortunately some busy days in the office and a quick trip to Chicago brought Friday with dispatch.

I had somewhat mulled over Liz and her ‘birthday gift’, but when the return flight to New York became delayed, I had much time to sort things out...to organize my thoughts and questions. And notably, the more I cogitated the more the shock effect wore down. I convinced myself, I could not be the first heterosexual man to enjoy oral sex with a male, if Jamie was indeed still technically a male.

My perplexed machismo calmed and I resolved to learn more, despite the potential erosion of my heterosexual psyche. And there was Liz. My male ego could not let that luscious fruit go unplucked.

Friday evening the elevator whisked me to Liz’s penthouse. Hers was the only apartment at that level. I stepped into the small foyer. Jamie answered my ring. On this visit all pretension was cast aside. He pulled open the door and curtsied like a seven year old girl. And he wore... nothing, except a mirthful smile...his gold waist chain which appeared seamless, and of course his clicking diamond-studded golden balls.

“Miss Elizabeth dressing,” was his laconic, labored greeting. And after closing the door behind me, he scampered off toward the kitchen. This time I was determined to stare...to watch the deliciously effeminate buttocks roll and jounce with each quick step. And after a week of self examination and determination to remain in control, Little Sam betrayed me.

Yes, within a minute he was pressing the front of my trousers. He seemed to want to escape for his own view of the pretty altered boy... perhaps even more than a view.

I leisurely surveyed the living room for the first time. Obviously Saturday night’s visit did not give rise to casual perusal of the enlightening displays and artifacts of a world traveler such as Liz. I focused on a collection of framed photos from her home country, particularly of the Palace Square where an ominous platform was prominently displayed and my imagination placed upon it a yoked, naked and virile thief with a very young Liz staring up at his exposed genitals. She smiles...it is her confident smile...but her youth makes it devilish, turning her look of innocence to one of diabolism. My mind sees the thief’s penis slowly rise as he begins to fully comprehend his predicament. He will be flogged until flaccidity returns and he soils himself... and it will serve to greatly amuse a young girl.

What was it Liz said? ...For some it would stand for the last time? The comment was on my mental list of things to clarify.

Chapter Four

I heard the kitchen door swing open. Jamie approached and this time I observed his motion from the front. His cute faux testicles swung and glittered in the bright room light. No limited firelight to cloak any part of his altered anatomy on this visit. The living room lights were bright.

He carried a silver tray with a margarita. Presented in a crystal goblet, chilled to perfection and well salted. Though made to my liking, I let Jamie stand before me in his state of complete dishabille. I stared down at his penis... so small yet so rigid with the metal tube permanently inserted. It was locked upright as Liz demands and it occurred to me that any bathroom visits required the use of the key to the tiny padlock.

Yes, Jamie was not only altered, he was totally controlled. And I could not believe I was examining the hairless form of a twenty-year-old. He looked and acted like a boy of 13. An age which I suddenly realized was about when he was presented to Liz as a birthday gift.

I finally took the drink and nodded. And again Jamie wordlessly scampered off like a child in a playground. I turned back to the photos and sipped.

“He’ll be forever young,” the voice of my authoritative Middle Eastern friend exclaimed, stealing into my thoughts.